


Relating to the World and Other Impossibilities

by IntrovertApocalypse



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU sorta?, Cheating, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Jason is a dick, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Underage Prostitution, fluffy gay crushes because not everything is doom and gloom, graphic depiction of cutting, long AF name because I couldn't think of a better one, might not follow the show's plot completely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2018-10-28 07:48:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10826934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertApocalypse/pseuds/IntrovertApocalypse
Summary: Jughead Jones' life began at age five. His brain was messy, and his tongue ached with words unsaid, never having had someone to confide in. Then, Archie arrived, and he began to feel.Sometimes he found himself loathing the boy, because had he never began to care perhaps he wouldn't have to deal with the agony of losing the sensation. Of losing him.A look into Archie and Jughead's friendship from age five to their teenage years, told from Jughead's perspective while he deals with adolescence, his worsening mental state, and the way his heart jumps a beat when he catches a glimpse of fiery red.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my original fic, but I will be incorporating parts of my original into this version later.

When Jughead Jones was five, he broke two of his fingers climbing the tallest tree in Fox Forest. He remembers the sound they made - the indelible _pop_ that, even at a young age, told Jughead something was wrong.

For a long time, he lay there, drifting in and out of painful consciousness until the sun began to set. Jughead figured a small part of his mind knew his parents would be looking for him, but a larger part was too focussed on the fact that they hadn’t found him yet.

Often, Jughead wonders what would have happened if he had known Archie then - would he still have had to drag himself to the outskirts of the forest, checking his arm every minute-or-so to make sure it wasn’t _actually_ on fire, or would Archie be there with him, holding Jughead up as they walked together, and numbing the pain even slightly with his presence.

Would his mom have spotted him on the edge of Carson’s Creek, tripping over her own feet to get to him as fast as possible, blubbering half-hearted ‘ _what were you thinking?_ ’s into his ear as they drove to the hospital to get Jughead’s first splint? Jughead remembers his mother shushing him while he bragged about it - she was still shaken up over the situation. He remembers thinking how much _cooler_ he was than his little sister now; had _she_ survived a broken bone?

Jughead remembers, even now, what it was like to want to tell someone his story - anyone; any _thing_ , if there was a dog or cat, or a broken lamp willing to listen to him, he’d spill. But, he knew there was no person. The thought of sharing stories with another, real-life person seemed all but impossible; he never even considered it a viable option.

Instead, he boasted to his baby sister, who could only offer twee giggles or - y’know - baby noises in return.

His dad was splayed out on the couch when they arrived home the next morning. He didn’t stand to greet them, not that he could. The man was suffering from a serious hangover that Jughead would not understand until many years later.

“Dad’s asleep,” he said instead. Because at five, his father being too tired to hug him when he got back from hospital delivered the same devastating blow he would learn to associate with the man throughout the years.

Jughead met Archie the upcoming Tuesday. The Jones’s had been spending all their time packing up their house for The Move - as their family had so aptly called it. Jughead’s only knowledge of The Move came from his parents’ bickering and his mother’s gentle attempt to break the news to him that they’d be living in a trailer park for his most crucial years - she was quickly shut up by his dad:

“He doesn’t need to know that shit.”

“He has a right to know where we’ll be living, ‘Sythe-”

“You’re not telling my son he’s gonna grow up in a trailer park-!”

“ _Maybe_ if you spent some of your time trying to find a real job, we wouldn’t need to move!”

Back and forth - he was fairly used to it. Eventually, he would learn to tune it out completely. Jughead spotted Jellybean wiggling around in her cot.

‘ _Good luck_ ,’ he whispered to her. They could all use it.

\-----

Something a sixteen-year-old Archie will never tell you: he is weirdly into injuries and wounds. Jughead supposed every young boy had a little tendency to pick at scabs to see what was underneath, but he never called someone over to him from across the street to see their finger splint.

“Hey!” Archie called, never afraid of what people may think.

Jughead whipped his head around, partly expecting it to be an adult screeching about money at the top of their lungs - like he was used to.

Instead, he was greeted with a gangly young boy, no older than Jughead but still tall for his age, bounding up the sidewalk. He had the brightest, most fiery red hair Jughead had ever seen.

Suffice to say, Jughead was not used to being noticed by anyone other than his family. He scanned the area for the person the boy could be talking to, before managing to point a finger to his own chest dumbly; ' _me?_ ’

“Yeah, you!”

The boy waved across the road. A couple Jughead assumed were his parents sped up their pace on the sidewalk to meet him. His dad ruffled the boy’s hair, messing up his blazing locks. It almost glowed in the afternoon sun, and his smile seemed to stretch even wider, if that were possible.

Jughead thought he was magnificent.

Jughead waved back. Then, after careful consideration (5 seconds, tops) and a look behind him to check that his parents were still gathering boxes inside the house, he looked both ways and crossed the road over to the happy family.

The boy’s mom, whose hair was a similar shade to the boy’s, objected.

“Oh, honey,” she knelt down next to him. Jughead prepared himself to get scolded “you really shouldn’t cross the road without your parents there with you.” she cooed.

“Where are your parents anyway, bud?” The boy’s dad asked.

The boy tugged at Jughead’s arm, “Hey, what happened to your hand? Did it hurt?”

“What’s your name, sweetie?” The boy’s mom.

There were a lot of questions.

“Uh,” a great introduction “I-I’m Forsythe. My parents are-” he pointed to his soon to be ‘old’ house, door propped open with a box of knick-knacks nobody wanted “-inside.”

“ _Forsythe?_ ” The boy asked with something softer than cruelty in his voice. His parents exchanged a glance.

Jughead nodded, and lisped through, “Forsythe Pendleton Jones, the third.”

He puffed out his chest.

“My parents call me Jughead.”

The boy’s eyes widened with delight at each name Jughead threw at him.

“I’m Archie.” said the boy “Archie Andrews.”

_Archie_

Jughead rolled the name around in his head, committing it to memory and imagining what it would be like to have a real friend with a real name. A name like _Archie_. He smiled.

“What happened to your hand?” the boy asked again, switching topics almost immediately.

“Arch, that’s not a very nice thing to ask-” Mr. Andrews tried to step in, but nothing was going to stop Jughead from speaking with his new friend.

“I fell from a tree!” Jughead smiled wide, showing off his missing front tooth, just in case Archie didn’t believe how tough he was.

“Really?!” Archie seemed gripped by the story, which was a nice feeling. It was nice to know that someone was actually listening when he talked.

“Yeah! I was climbing trees in Fox Forest and I fell. I had to go to hospital and everything!”

Archie’s parents exchanged amused glances while their son gaped at Jughead.

“Can I see your cast?” Archie asked, eyeing Jughead’s hand.

“Sure,” Jughead lifted his hand to Archie.

“It’s called a _splint._ ” Jughead corrected, much to the surprise of Mrs. Jones, who was now looking at Jughead with a mix of confusion and amusement.

Archie examined the splint closely. He held Jughead’s hand up to his face, careful not to bend his fingers (although, Jughead doubted he’d miss out on the chance to have a real friend, even if he was hurting him). He traced the padding gently.

“So, _Forsythe,_ ” Jughead got the feeling Archie’s dad did not believe that was his real name, “what are you up to out here?”

“ _Jughead_ ” Jughead corrected - friends called each other nicknames.

Jughead looked back to his house, “We’re moving.”

He might have imagined it, but Jughead swears he could feel Archie’s shoulders droop just from the way he held Jughead’s hand.

“Mom and Dad are packing things inside. They asked me to stay out here and keep watch.”

“Where are you moving?” Archie had dropped Jughead’s hand now. He was not smiling anymore.

“Sunnyside.” Jughead quoted all the times he’d heard the name passed around in his house. His parents had been using the phrase just as much as they had ‘The Move’. He was proud of himself for having remembered it.

Archie’s parents did not look so proud.

“Sunnyside... _trailer park?_ ” Mrs. Andrews looked worriedly at Archie’s dad.

“Yep.” Jughead nodded “We’re staying there until my dad gets a real job.” he said, also quoting what he had heard time and time again.

The family continued to ask him questions: ‘Where’s Sunnyside?’/‘How long are you staying there?’/‘Your parents are inside, you said?’, but Jughead was distracted by his front door being pushed open.

“Hey, Jughead!”

His dad called, and, finally, Mr. Jones nodded in acceptance “You wanna help me with this?”

His dad held three big cardboard boxes he had stacked and somehow managed to pick up and maneuver himself through the house while they covered his vision.

Jughead crossed back over the road to his dad. Halfway across he realised he had already broken the rule Mrs. Andrews introduced him to. He hoped that wouldn’t drive them away.

_Stupid_

Only when he was at his front door, helping his dad down the steps, did he realise the Andrews family had crossed the road with him.

Archie’s dad spotted a box that was about to fall from FP’s tower. He caught it with an ‘oof’.

“You’re gonna want to be careful there,” Mr. Andrews laughed.

FP shot him a look - raised eyebrows and all. Surely his son hadn’t actually managed to meet people, had he?

“And you are...?” FP put the boxes down next to their beat-up car.

“Fred Andrews.” Fred held out his hand for FP to shake, “This is my wife Mary, and the little guy’s Archie.”

FP shook the man’s hand.

“FP Jones. I guess Jughead’s already introduced himself? Good job, buddy.”

Jughead cringed at his dad’s encouraging smile. His new friend did _not_ need to know that he’d never had a friend before.

“He’s a smart one,” Mary said, “He’s been telling Archie about his cast-”

“- _Splint_ ” Jughead corrected.

“Exactly.”

Jughead didn’t think he’d ever seen someone look so happy with him for doing so little. Mary smiled at him like his knowledge was actually worth something.

“Ah, did he tell you about his fall? I’m always telling him he’s gotta stop running off when we’re out. Nearly gave us a heart attack.”

Jughead couldn’t remember a single time his father had told him not to run off, mainly because he was never exploring the forest with him; Jughead would ask if he could go for a walk, and he’d be allowed to.

Archie dragged Jughead by his good hand around the side of the house, apparently bored of the grown-ups talking boring grown-up talk.

“Did it hurt?” Archie asked.

“A little.” Jughead lied.

“That’s so cool!” Archie awed at the splint. Frankly, Jughead didn’t understand it - he’d had the thing for days now and he never got quite as excited as Archie did the moment he saw it. No matter, Jughead thought. If it would keep Archie around, he could act excited too.

\-----

The grown-ups talked for longer than Jughead had expected, especially considering his dad’s usual opinions of small talk, or talk in general.

Fortunately, that gave he and Archie time to discuss all matter of things: their favourite places to hang out around town; Jughead’s new home; Archie’s current home; how cool it was that they would still be living walking distance away from each other.

“I’m glad you’re okay, because now we can hang out all the time,” Archie said, now sitting next to Jughead.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” At five, Jughead had a tendency to overlook the obvious.

“Well, _duh_ -” Archie gestured not-so-subtly “-you fell from a tree. You could have _died_. How cool is that? When we get to school everyone’s gonna want to be friends with you.”

Jughead wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It wasn’t that he had not realised he could have been hurt worse - or even that he could have died. But even then, there was what felt like a disconnect between what he was supposed to find worrying about it, and what actually worried him.

He was supposed to be glad that he was alive, and scared to ever climb a tree again just in case he slips and falls.

Instead, he worried that his splint would be taken off before school started, and if he could break his fingers again to make sure the school kids thought he was as cool as Archie did.

This was all symptomatic of bigger problems, but Jughead was too young to realise that yet.

The boys waved goodbye to each other just as the sun began to turn orange. The Andrews headed on their way - one big happy family - and Jughead trudged back into his house, where his mom told him it was too late to see their new home now. She told him it was because if they saw it first in the dark, they wouldn’t know which place was theirs and they would get lost.

Jughead would come to learn it was because nobody felt safe in Sunnyside trailer park at night. Not with the Serpents so close, and with drunks and druggies murmuring their sorrows into the blue moon.

His dad packed up the car, ready to drive tomorrow morning. Jughead didn’t understand why his dad glared at him once the Andrews were thoroughly out of sight, or why his mom started crying that night while they were eating dinner.

Jughead didn’t understand a lot of things back then. He approached life with a childish naivete, ready for anything. And sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes it had stayed that way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I rewrote the first chapter of this story, so if you're a subscriber and haven't read that yet, please do!

His mom left them quietly. The weeks leading up to it were not so calm - they were tainted by arguments; his parents, Jughead, Jellybean, all stuck in a perpetual screaming match whenever they found themselves in the trailer together.

His dad spent a lot of time at work - at least, he’d say he was going to work, then none of them would see him until the stars had come out.

His mom would travel back and forth from Toledo, visiting Jughead’s grandparents multiple times a week just to get out of the toxicity they had created. Occasionally she would take Jellybean with her, sometimes she would go alone. Very rarely would Jughead be offered a seat in the car.

Jughead can’t say he wasn’t slightly relieved at those times. When neither his mom nor dad were in the house, he was free to do whatever he wanted. He was free of the sickly feeling he had started to get in his stomach every time they fought.

Jughead spent a lot of his time in those final weeks at the Andrews household. He and Archie had become close friends over the four years they had known each other, and through Archie Jughead had met Betty - a peppy blonde girl who might have legitimately damaged her scalp from the variety of sparkly hair ties she donned daily, and who had a habit of stealing Archie away to spend time with him alone.

They became a close-cut trio. Drinking milkshakes at Pop Tate’s ChockLit Shoppe; eating lunch together at school; Jughead even let them in on his family’s secret to sneak into the Twilight Drive-In. They visited the establishment together with Archie’s dad. Fortunately, the Andrews had enough money that none of the children had to hide in the trunk to get inside for free. They all sat together in the back of Fred’s truck. Jughead, Jellybean, Betty, then Archie. Sharing blankets and popcorn, no worries that a fight would break out. It was a world Jughead had never known before, but one he knew he wanted a lot more of.

Of course, Jughead had to return to his life at some point. He and Jellybean came home to their father yelling obsenities at them, claiming to be worried sick about them - he was _just about_ to call the police. Yeah, right.

Reminding FP that they had told him they were going out was no use; he could never remember. It was better to just take the yelling now and wait for him to pass out later that night. The good thing about having a father rendered forgetful through excessive consumption of liquor - if there was one - was that he usually forgot about punishments as well.

He’d spend another night at Archie’s - who, even as the more optimistic between the two, had begun to question the way he seemed to avoid his own house. Mr Andrews would ask him if he was okay getting home alone, Jughead would say yes. He’d see the worried looks on the Andrews’ faces. He’d try his best to ignore them.

He would go to school smelling of beer because his dad had tripped over him that morning. His teachers would ask him if there were problems at home. Jughead would say no. His parents would be called into school later that day, and only his mom would show.

The first time Child Services was called, it was when Jughead showed up to class with a red and purple bruise running down the side of his face. He told his teacher he fell - which was not a lie, he just neglected to mention that he fell _after_ his dad shoved him towards the hard floor.

His heartbeat didn’t slow down for the rest of the day. Through the home inspection, the well-dressed people asking he and Jellybean questions, his dad telling him to hide his beer while they were out of the room.

His mom cried again that night, while she held he and Jellybean close. She spat curses at FP, who locked her out of the bedroom after making a fuss about how ‘she’s always blaming _me_ for the shit that goes wrong in this family’.

Jughead fell asleep next to his mom on the couch. She sniffled, ruffling his hair.

 

He was awoken that night by Jellybean. She was dressed, and she had a full backpack strapped to her shoulders.

“Jughead,” she whispered.

He supposes he could have made more of a fuss. He was not as oblivious as he used to be, and the fully packed car his mother stood outside was nowhere near discreet. But, there was only so much he could ask for. There was only room for two in the car with the girls’ stuff packed in there, and somebody needed to be there for FP. He’s sure that’s why they left him - that had to be it.

“Mom and I are going away.” Jellybean didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. She was uneasy, Jughead could see that, but she had her bag packed like she was going on a school trip to the zoo, not leaving her family.

“Okay.” Jughead said, because what else could he bring himself to say.

“I’ll miss you.” Jellybean whispered. Jughead brought her into a tight hug.

“I’ll miss you too, Jellybean.” and he would.

Jellybean pressed some folded material into his hand, “Mom said to give this to you. You can keep it.”

His mom had made the beanie a year-or-so ago, when she was going through a sewing stage, and when his head was still a little too small for it to fit. He loved it, though. It smelled of her, and had a sort of quirkiness you’d never get from typical Riverdale. It was his mom - his family.

“Thank you,” Jughead pulled the beanie onto his head. It fit better now.

His mom did not come in to say goodbye. What may have been a wave directed towards him before she and Jellybean hopped into her car was somewhat distorted by Jughead’s already heavy eyelids blinking closed once again.

 

\-----

 

_“-goddamn whore!”_

Jughead’s slumber was cut short by the sound of glasses smashing on the kitchen tiles.

“-teach her to leave with _my_ kid!”

Although Jughead knew what his father was angry about, and a part of him thought that he should be angry too, he knew he should be greatful for what this would achieve in the long run: his mom and Jellybean were safe - happy, presumably.

Maybe if his dad understood that, he would finally try to change.

The morning sun was just beginning to rise, and Jughead’s head was still fuzzy with tiredness. He yawned.

“-fucking _cunt!_ ” his father growled. Jughead heard something else crash to the floor. This one sounded thicker than glass - something more weighty.

There was only so long he could hide away from the inevitable conversation, especially when his hiding spot was in the middle of the living room.

If he was going to get up, he might as well put off the hardest part, at least for a little while. Stretching his arms above his head, Jughead stood. He straightened out his wrinkled clothes the best he could and gave his shirt a sniff. It could last another day. He picked up his backpack from the front door, keeping his footsteps as light as possible while his dad made a wreck of the kitchen.

It was early morning. He didn’t have school for a few hours now, and he didn’t want to face his dad’s onslought of questions yet. He didn’t want to lie this early in the day.

Instead, after strapping his bag to his back like his sister did the night before, Jughead pulled his too-small sneakers on his feet. It was only when he had one foot out of the trailer when he turned back.

In one smooth motion, Jughead hopped back inside, grabbed his beanie that had fallen off in the night, and headed out of Sunnyside trailer park.

 

\-----

 

Later that night, Jughead arrived home to a kitchen covered in glass and an angrily scrawled note that he could only make out half of. He knelt down on the tiled floor, ignoring the sharp stinging as ceramic shards pierced the knees of his jeans, and picked a framed photo up from the wreckage. Broken glass distorted their faces, but their smiles still shone bright - _her_ smile. Jughead popped open the jagged frame and pocketed the photo, quietly hoping his dad wouldn't realise it was gone, and, silently, knowing he would not notice the difference at all.

His dad did not come home until the next morning, stumbling over his own mess and mumbling curses under liquored breath. Jughead shut his eyes tight, and slipped the photo under his pillow. He dreamt of drive-ins and happy memories.

 

\-----

 

It wasn’t until years later, when Archie’s parents decided to get divorced, that Jughead even realised it could be something calm and unanimous, without loud screaming or throwing books across the room.

By then, the Jones’s had agreed on a more...amicable comprimise. FP still wanted nothing to do with his (ex)wife, and neither she him, but Jughead missed his family and - as his mom realised when Jughead showed up at her door, having taken the night train from Riverdale to Toledo all by himself - there was no keeping him from them.

So now, Jughead’s mom took him up to Toledo one week every month (give or take a few months when Jughead waited on the Riverdale border for hours, and she called to apologise profusely - ‘I’m so sorry, Jug’/‘I just got so caught up’/‘I know that’s no excuse, but...’/‘Next month, I promise’.

And occassionally, if FP showed up on her doorstep sober, she’d allow Jellybean to travel to Riverdale for a night or two to drink milkshakes at Pop’s and sneak into the drive-in with Jughead.

It was at this age that Jughead had become much more reliant on the people he knew would always be there, since he couldn’t always rely on his family.

The amount of time he and Archie spent playing in Fox Forest was enough to give him a substantial amount of bruises and scrapes; he and Betty learned to cook scones in her kitchen, nearly destroying it in the process; Kevin would shyly point out the boys in their class he found cute, and Jughead would write stories about two princes falling in love to hand to him in-between classes.

It was also at this age that Jughead began to aquire the strangest sense of jelousy everytime Archie spent time with Cheryl, or Ethyl, or Midge instead of him. Worst of all, he started to get jealous of Betty.

It made sense they were closest - they had spent their entire lives together; they grew up right next door to each other; they were the closest two friends could get and, honestly, everyone within a five block radius could spot Betty’s crush on Archie. Jughead was certain even she must have known how obvious she was being, with her skirts and tight cardigans, and her long eyelashes, and that dumb ponytail she still hadn’t retired.

Jughead knew there was nothing to be jealous of - Archie didn’t like her back, and everyone knew it - and, really, there was no reason for _him_ to be jealous. He wasn’t like Kevin. He didn’t _want_ to be like Kevin. Not when Kevin couldn’t even walk down the school hallway without being shoved or called ‘fag’.

Jughead asked one day how Kevin dealt with it all, expecting some half-hearted ‘those guys are just jerks’ ordeal. Instead, Kevin smiled wide, like he had never had a chance to tell anyone this before, and he said:

“People bully me because I like boys, but people also bully Ethyl, and Dilton, and Sabrina. But Ethyl is really pretty - even I’m allowed to say that - and Dilton’s so smart, and Sabrina knows how to do great magic tricks. So, if they’re mean to them, too, and they’re so great, that must mean I’m a little bit great too.”

Kevin beamed.

It was an optimistic view that lasted their early teen years. Jughead isn’t sure exactly what changed after that. Maybe the bullies got stronger, maybe the rest of them grew weaker. Maybe the jocks finally succumed to their need to prove their masculinity, and the best way to do that was to beat up the gay kid behind the school. Either way, the shoves got more brutal, the insults became more cutting and specific, and Jughead, Betty and Archie all saw how each blow kicked Kevin while he was down.

A part of Jughead was curious to ask if Kevin still had that optimistic outlook.

Sabrina had moved away shortly after they all left elementary school, after her mother disappared and she was taken in by her aunts. Dilton had melted into the shadows as best he could, but his scout uniform was still vandilised with glue and permenant marker. Ethyl was still tormented relentlessly. Short kids were knocked to the floor and tall kids had their gym uniforms shrunk; unflattering photos were sent to everyone in school; hateful graffiti was scrawled on kids’ lockers before classes began.

Jughead had even gotten used to a fair amount of torment himself. Asking Kevin to share his optimism - whether still there or now faded from years of abuse - was nothing but a ploy to make himself feel better. They could all use a little optimism right now - even if it first came from a skinny thirteen-year-old who kept a shoebox full of unconventional fairytales.

There was one particular tale Jughead did not write for Kevin. One that featured a dark haired farmhand boy who was rescued from his drab life by a heroic ginger buffoon - as all heroes should be, Jughead thinks. He kept that for himself, not quite processing the implications until a couple years down the line, when Archie would smile at him the way Jughead had seen a thousand times before, and this time he would notice the two extra freckles on his nose that had appeared overnight, and the way they made his heart yelp.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I don't know how kids talk or act or think. Is this...is this at all right? Maybe they're just really advanced IDK


End file.
